


Lie By Omission

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Dialogue, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dorks in Love, Flashbacks, Gen, Introspection, Lies, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Steve is a liar, Unbeta'ed, anyway don't be mean to me i'm trying really hard, but this one kinda has an unedited feel, even though literally none of my fics are edited, it's just that steve/bucky is so much more valid, it's not that steve/peggy isn't valid, it's very slight though, military boyfriends steve and bucky, that's not usually something i warn about, the original document title for this fic was:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: “It was not my first kiss since 1945,” he says, falsehood slipping out like ice.





	Lie By Omission

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SO SORRY I LEFT YOU ALL HANGING WITH THE TOP SURGERY FUND SEQUEL. i swear on the river styx i am STILL WORKING ON IT. i haven't abandoned it i PROMISE i'm just a lazy stupid person who really wants to finish her Friends rewatch and i have a LOT going on and i kinda wrote myself into a corner but the POINT is i'm still working on it so don't give up hope!!!  
> in the meantime, have this. i recently rewatched TWS and was hit with another wave of stucky emotions, so...here.  
> in conclusion, steve rogers is bisexual.

_**January, 2014** _

Steve is a liar.

Not compulsively. He's actually a generally honest person, believes in integrity, upholds the honor system. Always did the reading even when no one else would.

But he had lied. To Natasha. Aside from being impressed with himself for successfully lying to Natasha, he feels a little badly.

Because when she'd asked him if she'd been his first kiss since 1945, Steve's memory of his  _ last  _ kiss had slammed the panic button. And it had been so easy, so sensible, to just lie. Especially with Natasha lobbing words at him, pressing him to crack — he gives her the appeasing answer.

“It was not my first kiss since 1945,” he says, falsehood slipping out like ice. Hoping she’ll believe that he's kissed  _ anyone _ since 1945 and drop the matter.

Because Steve remembers his most recent kiss, and it  _ was  _ 1945.

And illegal.

And amazing.

 

* * *

 

**_January, 1945_ **

The clouds are casting ashen shadows across the faces of all of Steve’s friends, and yet Bucky, despite grim in expression and dry in tone, still shines.

Steve’s arms feel tingly. He wonders if there’s some kind of electricity resulting from the stormy weather or the snow. But Bucky’s arm is like  _ right _ there, so it might just be that.

Bucky takes another heavy step into the snow, and his knee buckles. Like clockwork, Steve reaches out and grabs his bicep, steadying him. Bucky shoots him a look.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve says, entirely disbelieving.

He has no idea what Zola did to him, and he’s not willing to risk Bucky collapsing suddenly. He can’t lose him again. Not after going through all of that.

Bucky sighs and doesn’t shrug Steve off. “I should’ve known the only difference with you is this fuckin’...Adonis body.”

Steve blushes. “What?”

“Same small brain,” Bucky says. “Same ridiculous stubbornness. Same pigheaded determination.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Steve says.

Bucky is quiet for a moment, and Steve feels short of breath. The feeling is not unfamiliar, but it is unusual; though pre-serum Steve had been out of breath more often than not, the new and improved Steve Rogers — Captain America — tends to always have just a little more breath than he ever seems to need. But he recalls the quickness of his heart and the shallowness of his breath, at least, from his entire life.

Just one of those symptoms of being friends with Bucky Barnes.

Reluctantly, Steve lets go of Bucky’s arm.

“Kinda cold out here,” Bucky says.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, Buck. Think it might have something to do with all the snow.”

“Or the altitude,” Bucky says. “You cold?”

Steve does a mental check-check. “Not really.”

“Didn’t think so.” He chuckles. “This is gonna take some getting used to.”

“What, you not being able to baby me?”

Bucky shrugs. “Call it what you want, pal. At least I could feel useful.”

“What?” Steve turns, frowns. “What do you mean, useful?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. When Steve’s face doesn’t change, Bucky’s does, into an incredulous laugh. “Jeez, Stevie, you’re like six foot and change and you’re built like a tank. What do you need me for?”

“Come on, cut it out,” Steve says. “We’re partners, alright? Equals. No one else I know could man a sniper as clean as you. Plus, I need you around. For emotional support.”

“Emotional support,” Bucky says. “Right.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

Bucky shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’d pulled words out of your ass.”

Ouch. That stings a little. But Steve probably deserves it. He’s a sellout, more or less. Regardless, what Bucky thinks about Captain America doesn’t matter. It’s what Bucky thinks about Steve that counts, and Steve is starting to feel a little nervous in that respect. The scales feel like they’re tipping.

“You think I don’t need you? Think I didn’t spend every second worrying about you when you were here and I was back in Brooklyn? Think I didn’t lose my damn mind when I thought I’d lost you? Jesus, Bucky, without you I’d be nowhere.”

Bucky stays silent. Steve turns his head quickly, does a mental inventory: all the Commandos are present and accounted for. He puts a bracing hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Buck, come on. ‘Til the end of the line. I meant it. Did you?”

Bucky swallows. “Of course I meant it, you dingus.”

“Okay,” Steve says.

Suddenly, Bucky takes a misstep. His foot sinks deeper into the snow than anticipated, and Bucky jerks so suddenly that Steve loses his grip on him. Visceral panic blinds him for a second, and he grabs tight onto Bucky’s collar and pulls him closer.

Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder,  _ veryveryveryclose. _ Steve can feel him breathe. Quickly.

“Steve,” he says. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I know, I-I just…”

Bucky fans his palm over the star on Steve’s chest. “So you can let me go.”

Steve swallows thickly. “Yes. Right.”

“Are you coming or are you making out?” Morita calls out, and Steve realizes they’ve halted suddenly. The rest of the Commandos are several paces ahead.

He steps backwards, embarrassed, blushing.

“Give us a second,” Bucky hollers. “I fucked up my ankle. We’ll catch up.”

Steve screws up his face, confused, concerned.

“Did you hurt your ankle?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I was lying.”

“But why —”

“I thought,” Bucky says calmly, “we could do this once before we’re inevitably shepherded to our deaths by Captain America.”

“Hey,” Steve protests weakly. “Uh, do what? You’re not being overly clear, Buck.”

“Stevie. Shut up.” Bucky puts his hand flush against Steve’s cheek, and Steve is effectively silenced. “Can I…”

Talking? Steve doesn’t know how to do that. All words fail him simultaneously, and he nods, feeling the icy cold of Bucky’s fingers balancing the heat from his own skin.

Bucky smiles, soft and genuine. He leans in, forward, steady and sure, and catches Steve in a kiss.

Steve is almost too stunned to respond, but the primal part of him that knows how to do this takes over. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, crowds in closer to him, and gives everything he has to this kiss.

They break apart and Steve can’t stop staring at Bucky, drinking in his face, which is now lightly flushed pink. In the corner of his eye he sees the Commandos, some ways ahead — in Steve's line of sight, but with all their backs facing the two of them.

“You’re not worried about gettin’ in trouble?” he hedges.

Bucky rolls his eyes, his mouth curving into a dry grin. “Well, if you’re as much trouble as I know you are, then I actually look forward to it.”

It takes Steve a second, and then he blushes down to his toes. “Bucky,” he hisses.

“I’m joking. Kinda.” Bucky leans forward and steals another kiss, and Steve can’t exactly complain. With difficulty, he pulls back.

“We need to keep moving,” he says. “Did you forget we’re on a mission?”

“Ugh,” Bucky says. “It’s always a mission with you.”

“One thing at a time,” Steve says. He puts his palm against Bucky’s chest, mimicking the latter’s stance from only moments earlier. “We’ll finish this later. Scout’s honor, alright?” He crosses his free index finger over his own heart.

“That’s not the Scouts symbol, you dipwad,” Bucky says, and then shows him how to do it — three fingers in the air.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says. He’s pretty sure Bucky could say  _ let’s all jump off a cliff! _ and Steve would agree with it. Shaking off his slight daze, he steps backwards. “Alright, Sergeant Liar. Let’s get a move on or they’ll just leave us behind.”

Bucky snorts and begrudgingly resumes his pace. Steve falls into step with him, and the next time Bucky stumbles and Steve grabs his hand, he doesn’t let go.

Until Bucky falls, and Steve isn’t there to catch him.

* * *

_ **January, 2014**  
_

It’s not that Steve is ashamed. He’s always been a little ahead of the game, and he’s not embarrassed to say he liked Bucky, a lot.

But remembering his last kiss always throws him back into the moments afterwards. Remembering Bucky also means remembering losing him. And that memory hurts like a bitch, to be perfectly honest.

Besides, he’s used to lying about Bucky. It’s the exception that proves his rule of honesty. Maybe, given time, people would have been okay with the two of them. But he and Bucky hadn’t gotten any time. Afterwards, when people would ask, Steve would just say they’d been best friends. Not necessarily false — they _ had _ been — just not the whole truth. A lie by omission.

He thinks it’ll hurt less if he doesn’t think about everything that could have been, but it doesn’t.

“Nobody special, though?” Natasha asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

_ There was, _ Steve wants to say. He’s not sure what Nat would say to that. But the ache still burns in his chest, the wound as fresh as the day he’d received it, and Natasha is just a little too hard to read.

What does special mean, anyway? Steve is special, physically speaking. He thinks Natasha is special — special circumstances. She requires a special kind of skill in order to befriend. Things can be special in lots of ways.

So he does another sensible thing.

He laughs.

“Believe it or not,” he says, “it’s kinda hard to find someone with shared life experience.”

And even if he found someone, he wouldn’t care. The only person he well and truly loved died in 1945. He doesn’t want special. He wants Bucky.

“Well, that’s alright,” Natasha says, “you just make something up.”

“What, like you?” Steve says. He’s tired of this conversation being about him. And he bites back what he’s really thinking one more time:

_ Everything I just told you is made up. The only real thing I know has been dead seventy years. _

One more lie by omission.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry?  
> thank you for reading!! and once again i promise i'll finish House Arrest asap and post it, i'm just...a bad writer. leave a comment if you liked this, and you can find me on tumblr @[vivilevone](http://vivilevone.tumblr.com). can't wait to see Endgame, and in the meantime, keep thinking good thoughts! catch ya on the flip side!


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